


Why don't you try me? (Complete)

by azziria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azziria/pseuds/azziria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Danny both want the same thing, they just don't know it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why don't you try me? (Complete)

**Author's Note:**

> The complete series of _Try me_ vignettes posted as one story for ease of reading.
> 
> Originally posted as a series of short pieces. POVs (mostly) alternate and sometimes overlap.

**Why don’t you try me?**

Steve’s a realist, he deals in what things are, not in what he’d like them to be. He sees the appreciative way Danny’s eyes follow the surfer girls in their skimpy bikinis, hears his easy flirtations with the female dispatchers, hell, he’s _met_ Rachel. Danny’s as straight as he is brave, open and loyal, and that’s something Steve can’t deny.

It doesn’t mean, though, that some nights, when he slides between the sheets of that big lonely bed at the end of a tough day, it doesn’t mean that he can’t let himself imagine what it would be like to unpick the knot of Danny’s tie and press his mouth to the hollow at the base of Danny’s throat, to taste the salt on Danny’s skin. To undo Danny’s shirt buttons one by one and peel the shirt off and finally get a look at the broad chest and firm muscles that Danny’s shirts can’t quite hide. To mouth his way over Danny’s pecs and down across the flat planes of his stomach to Danny’s cock, hot and hard and just waiting for Steve. To lick his way up Danny’s length, run his tongue around the head and sink his mouth down, taking Danny deep and forcing him to groan and curse and stutter Steve’s name as he comes down Steve’s throat.

To imagine that the hand stripping his cock is Danny’s hand, strong and firm and sure, to bite back Danny’s name as he comes, knowing how hot and dirty and _wrong_ it is to be thinking of Danny that way.

Yeah, Steve’s a realist. But that doesn’t mean he can’t dream.

* * * * *

 **Dream on**

Danny wakes in a sweat, drags a finger through the sticky mess on his belly and thinks Jesus, no, _seriously_? Because he hasn't had _that_ happen to him since he was a teenager. What's even more worrying is that he can remember exactly what he was dreaming about: calloused fingers on his cock, stubble against his skin, and Steve McGarrett's mouth in all sorts of places it has no right to be.

It's deeply disturbing on two counts. The first is that Danny is straight, has always been straight, has never even felt the urge to experiment. Sure, he can appreciate sculpted pecs, chiselled abs and firm biceps from an aesthetic point of view, but he's always preferred his sexual partners with softer curves and smoother skin. The second is that he's been dreaming about having sex with _Steve_ , his work partner, his boss, and as far as he knows the straightest arrow in the Navy. This is wrong on so many levels (not least that remembering his dream is apparently making his dick think about sitting up and taking notice, and that sort of recovery time is something else that Danny hasn’t experienced since he was a teenager) that Danny can’t even begin to count them.

With a sigh he rolls out of bed and heads for the shower. He and his subconscious need to have a serious talk, he thinks, because there’s _no way_ he should be even entertaining these hot, dirty and just plain _wrong_ thoughts about whether Steve’s mouth would feel as good on his dick as his subconscious would have him believe.

But yeah, that little talk can wait. Because after all, what goes on between a man and his good right hand in the privacy of the shower is surely nobody’s business but his own, OK?

* * * * *

 **Driver’s seat**

The car is starting to be a problem.

Of course, it’s not the car itself that’s the problem, it’s sitting in the car. Or, more precisely, sitting in the car with _Steve_. Because the Camaro isn’t exactly spacious, and Steve’s a big guy, and since Danny started having _those dreams_ about Steve he can’t ignore the fact that Steve is sitting right next to him, in the flesh. In the nicely-tanned, firmly-muscled and impressively-tattooed flesh at that, and none of these things are things that Danny feels he should be noticing, let alone appreciating, quite as much as he actually is.

The problem is just as bad whichever of them is driving. If Steve insists on taking the wheel (which, let’s face it, he does most of the time) then Danny has the choice of looking at Steve, which leads to him having all sorts of inappropriate and awkwardly-arousing thoughts about his partner, or pointedly ignoring him, which despite not being a detective Steve is bound to pick up on sometime pretty soon. It’s no better if Danny drives, because then Steve sprawls in the passenger seat with his ridiculously long legs folded so that his knee butts up against the gearshift, and Danny’s hand can’t help but brush against it every time he changes gear. Which, hello, awkward again.

The final contribution to the car problem is that, thanks to the dreams Danny’s been having (and yes, the latest one his subconscious had conjured up was a doozy), Danny has a pretty vivid idea of what it would feel like to be bent over the warm metal of the hood and fucked senseless while Steve holds him down with one big hand planted in the middle of his back and growls dirty, dirty things about how Danny is so tight and hot and such a slut for his cock. Which really, really doesn’t help matters one little bit.

So yeah, the car is starting to be a problem, and, short of requesting a transfer back to HPD, Danny hasn’t got the first clue what to do about it.

* * * * *

 **On the road again**

Something’s up with Danny, has been for a few days now, Steve can tell. He’s been tense and jumpy, even shorter-tempered than usual, and far, far too quiet. The real giveaway, of course is the state of his ties, which had been getting looser and more negotiable, but which are back to being firmly knotted over a full complement of fastened buttons. Not a good sign.

He’s not letting on what’s wrong, but Steve’s patient, is in this for the long haul, and intends keeping Danny under obs until he cracks and spills whatever’s bugging him. It shouldn’t be long now, Steve thinks, this is _Danny_ after all. He reckons that his partner is just building up a particularly good head of steam about something, and all it will take is a carefully-chosen step outside of correct procedure on Steve’s part for Danny to break and enlighten him in ear-splitting detail and with much hand-waving as to exactly what it is that Steve has done wrong this time. And Steve’s OK with that, he’s just looking for the right opportunity to step over the line and give Danny the chance to get whatever it is off his chest.

In the meantime he’s letting Danny drive, because after all it is Danny’s car (and whatever Danny says, he so _does not_ have control issues), and trying to keep an eye on Danny without being obvious. Danny’s got his sleeves rolled up, displaying the tan he’s developed despite his over-zealous application of sun cream, and he has both hands on the steering wheel, strong, capable hands that Steve knows are adept at stripping down a gun, bandaging a cut, or forcefully emphasising a point. Steve has a sudden flash of how those fingers would feel around his cock and shuts it down right there, looking away abruptly, because he’s _not thinking_ about Danny that way, at least not during work hours, because that would be _unprofessional_ and just plain wrong, his partner’s _straight_ , he’d be horrified if he knew about all the hot, dirty things Steve doesn’t seem to be able to stop thinking about doing to him.

Just like he’s _not thinking_ about how it would be to pull the Camaro over in some secluded spot, haul Danny out of the car, strip him of his khakis and get him bent over the hood, all spread out and ready for Steve to fuck him. Not thinking about how Danny would bitch about it (“Seriously, Steven? On the side of the road? Why can’t you use a _bed_ , like normal, civilised people, you Neanderthal animal!”) but would give it up anyway, would just _take it_ , hot and tight around Steve’s cock as Steve holds him down and fucks into him rough and dirty and fast (because the risk is a turn-on, but he really wouldn’t want to have to explain to HPD why he was nailing his partner in a public place). And not thinking about how Danny would look afterwards, all flushed and fucked out, sprawled half-naked over the warm metal of the hood for any passer-by to see because Steve couldn’t wait until he got him somewhere more private.

All this _not thinking_ is having an uncomfortable effect on him, he really needs to focus on something else, like filling in paperwork in triplicate or how many laps of the bay he’ll need to swim tomorrow morning to prevent his thoughts affecting him this way. He shifts awkwardly in his seat and as he does so his knee makes contact with Danny’s hand as Danny reaches for the gearshift to change down for the next bend.

Danny pulls his hand away as though he’s been burnt, and what’s with that? Steve sneaks a sideways glance at Danny, takes in the way he’s glaring at the road ahead, his clenched jaw, and his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and thinks, oh fuck, Danny _knows_ …

* * * * *

 **Open your eyes**

Of course the room with the best sight line would have to be the bedroom, wouldn’t it?

They’ve been there sixteen hours now, swapping seats at the observation post, and nothing’s happening. The perps have eaten a hearty dinner and appear to be settling in for a long restful night of sleeping peacefully, and Danny’s utterly beat. Commander ‘sleep is for pussies’ McGarrett is apparently still as fresh as a daisy, so far as Danny can tell, but Danny is fighting to keep his eyes open. Maybe more coffee will help, and he’s about to make a move to get some when Steve says, his voice oddly soft and concerned, “Danny, why don’t you get some rest? Lie down and take a nap, I’ve got this. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

Danny has to admit that the bed does look tempting, wide and soft and heaped with pillows. It would be so easy to just kick off his shoes, stretch out on the coverlet and let himself drift off into blessed sleep… but that’s not going to happen, because what if he has one of _those_ dreams while Steve is actually _in the room_?

”No, no, I’m good, thanks. Think I’ll just grab some more coffee, though. You want some?”

Steve fixes him with a stern scowl. “Danny. Bed. Now.” And oh god, those words out of Steve’s mouth in that tone make Danny’s traitorous dick twitch, which is so, so wrong, but clearly Steve’s not going to let this one drop, so Danny gives up the fight and goes. Maybe if he just rests his eyes for five minutes then Steve will let him get back up and go fetch that coffee…

Danny’s got his fingers clenched so tight around the slats of the headboard that he’s sure he’s going to get splinters, but he’s not letting go, no, because Steve told him – no, Steve _ordered_ him - not to. And Danny’s all for obeying orders, he really is, because the payoff is going to be so fucking amazing, but if Steve doesn’t _do_ something soon then Danny’s going to have to let go and get his hands on Steve, and to hell with orders. Because Steve is taking things slow, has Danny spread out on the bed and is working his way over him, mapping his skin with hands and mouth, learning all the places that make Danny hot. Right now Steve’s licking his way up the inside of Danny’s thigh, fingers brushing lightly over Danny’s hole, and seriously, if Steve doesn’t get his fingers or his cock inside Danny _now_ then Danny thinks he’s going to explode. He can’t help himself, he arches up off the bed, “Fuck, Steve, just do it, go on, just _fucking_ do it!” and Steve reaches up, puts his hand on Danny’s shoulder and says “Danny. _Danny!_ …

…and Danny comes awake with a jolt to find himself staring into his partner’s startled face, and oh fuck, he’s been talking in his sleep, and what exactly did Steve _hear_?

* * * * *

 **Bring me to life**

Chin’s following an electronic paper trail of bank transfers via Singapore to Zurich and back to Singapore again, and Kono’s following up a lead with an old Coral Prince buddy of hers out on the North Shore somewhere, which means that he and Danny draw the short straw on the stakeout, and get to spend a lot of hours cooped up together in an over-furnished guest bedroom belonging to an old lady who just happens to have the misfortune to live next door to the house their suspects are currently occupying.

It’s not like the last time they were on this sort of stakeout. Then, Danny was _Danny_ , touchy and cocksure and ranting on about Rachel and Stan and how ludicrously over-ostentatious their lifestyle was. This time Danny’s still touchy, but he’s also far too quiet and doing his best not to look at Steve, which is not a good sign. He’s still not actually _said_ anything about whatever it was that was going through his head in the car, but then, what would he say, what _could_ he say? “So when exactly did watching my back turn into watching my ass, Steven?” Or, “So when were you going to tell me about the whole _liking my dick_ thing, before or after you asked me to the prom?” And Steve would laugh at that thought, if this wasn’t such a fucking disaster waiting to happen. Whatever’s going on in Danny’s head, Steve guesses that the reason Danny’s been holding back on him is that he doesn’t actually want to say anything that might wreck their partnership for good, even if somehow he’s found out about the totally inappropriate thoughts his partner’s been having about him. In Steve’s head the whole thing is a twisted fuckup, and he wonders if talking – or fighting - about it would actually solve anything.

The hours stretch out, long and boring without Danny’s constant bickering and bitching. He can tell that Danny’s tired, and that Danny’s fighting it all the way, the stubborn bastard. Seeing Danny strung out like that does things to him, brings out a weird feeling of protectiveness that he doesn’t want to examine too closely, that has been growing steadily alongside the baseline level of _want_ that’s been getting harder to ignore. Eventually he gives in to it, says “Danny, why don’t you get some rest? Lie down and take a nap, I’ve got this. I’ll wake you if anything happens,” and he’s totally sure he doesn’t imagine the look of alarm that flickers across Danny’s face, and fuck, does Danny really think that Steve’s going to _molest him in his sleep_ or something? That pisses him off, so he gets stern, “Danny. Bed. Now,” and yeah, Danny must be shattered because he just goes without a fight, pretty much out like a light as soon as his head touches the pillow.

Asleep, Danny looks younger, and strangely vulnerable, a hint of who he must have been before becoming a cop, before Rachel, before the whole bitter mess that ripped him away from home and family and brought him here to Hawaii and Steve. Steve’s not sure he should be watching Danny like this, it feels strangely... intimate, like he’s intruding on something private and personal, but he can’t help himself. He fights back the urge to reach out and touch the lock of hair that’s fallen down over Danny’s forehead, because, really, he doesn’t want to be that creepy guy, but then Danny shifts and moans slightly, a low, breathy sound, and suddenly Steve’s mind is right where he was trying so hard not to let it go.

The thing is, there are all sorts of things he’s been trying not to think about doing to Danny, _with_ Danny, all sorts of hot and dirty and just plain _wrong_ things, but right now he’d just like to take his time, get Danny naked and easy on that bed and explore him, smooth his palms over the swell of Danny’s muscles, trace the pattern of veins and sinews under Danny’s skin with his tongue, lick his way into all the most sensitive places on Danny’s body until Danny’s incoherent and wanting under his touch. So yeah, it’s all too easy to imagine doing all that to Danny here and now, on this bed, no one to see and the job forgotten.

Danny moans again, flexes his body and rolls onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes, and oh god, Steve can’t miss it, Danny’s hard, dick jutting against the fly of his khakis, clearly dreaming about something _very_ personal, and now it really is so very, very wrong that Steve’s watching him. For one awful, unprofessional moment Steve’s torn between giving in to his baser desires and getting his eyes back on the house they’re supposed to be watching, but he’s in control, they’re here to do a job, so with a commendable effort of willpower he turns back to the monitor.

And oh fuck, he nearly missed it, there’s a black car turning into the driveway of the house, one of the suspects is standing in the lit doorway waiting, and they need to move _now_. Two steps and he’s got his hand over Danny’s shoulder, poised to shake him awake, and that’s when he hears Danny say it, clear as anything, no mistake. The shock of it stops him dead, freezes him for a long second, but they’ve a job to do, the suspects are on the move, there’s no time now, so Steve tucks it away into the back of his brain for future consideration and rouses Danny, “Danny. _Danny_. C’mon, partner, up and at ‘em, we’ve got movement!”

But he knows what he heard, heard it loud and clear.

Danny said his name. In the middle of a sex dream. And what the fuck conclusion is he expected to draw from _that_?

* * * * *

 **Run**

It had seemed like such a good idea when Steve suggested it, sinking a few beers round at the boss’s place to celebrate winding up another case. At least it had seemed like a good idea to Chin and Kono, and Danny had been caught off his guard, blindsided by Chin’s easy-going friendliness and Kono’s infectious enthusiasm, and hadn’t been quick enough off the mark to fabricate an excuse and duck out of doing something he really, really didn’t want to do.

So here he is, ensconced in a chair in the living room of Steve’s house, beer in hand, listening to Chin and Kono arguing the toss over which of them some obscure cousin is most closely related to. He’s trying very hard not to watch the easy way Steve sprawls on the couch, not to notice the long curve of Steve’s throat as he tips his head back and necks his beer, and he’s failing dismally. As soon as he decently can he’ll make his excuses and leave, flee back to his crappy apartment to jerk off yet again to the imagined feel of Steve’s mouth on his skin and Steve’s hand on his dick. It’s pathetic and sad and _wrong_ , and he knows it, is getting tired of it, but he can’t seem to help himself.

He’s had a couple more beers than he intended, must have lost track of things a bit, because suddenly Chin and Kono are going. He can hear Kono’s light giggle and Chin’s deeper laugh as they disappear down the driveway, and fuck, they’ve left him alone with Steve, and he really needs to leave _right now_.

He almost makes it out, hand on the latch, when Steve arrives behind him, right up in his space, and reaches over his shoulder with one long arm to hold the door shut. Steve’s so close that Danny can almost feel the rumble in his chest when he speaks, soft but firm, “Danny, don’t go, we need to...”

And no, they don’t _need_ to do anything. They certainly don’t need to talk about whatever Steve heard – whatever Steve _thinks_ he heard – Danny say in his sleep during the stakeout the other night, because it’s not fair, Danny was _asleep_ , dammit, he doesn’t know what he said, doesn’t know how much shit he’s actually in here. But Steve’s not moving, and Danny’s not going to engage in an undignified tussle for the door handle, so he turns round to face his partner, and oh fuck, this is not a face he’s ever seen before, intense and focused and... something else. All of a sudden Danny’s had enough, just gives up, slumps back against the door in despair, tips his head back and closes his eyes, waiting for Steve to say something.

And that’s when Steve kisses him.

* * * * *

 **Light my fire**

Kissing Danny is a gamble, he knows that. If he’s right, well, hell yeah... but if he’s wrong, if he’s put two and two together and come up with five, then he’ll earn a fist to the jaw, and he knows from experience just how hard Danny can throw a punch. It’s worth the risk, though, _Danny’s_ worth the risk, and at least if he’s wrong then a furious Danny will be more familiar and easier to deal with than this strangely silent not-Danny who’s been around for the last few days.

It turns out that kissing Danny is far, far better than he’d ever imagined, because Danny kisses fierce and desperate, and like he’s more than a little bit crazy for it, and the _want_ that’s been smoldering in Steve’s gut for weeks flares hot and sharp into _need_ and _now_. He doesn’t know which one of them starts the move to the couch, but he ends up with Danny straddling him, knees either side of his hips, and it’s fucking perfect because he can reach Danny’s belt, unzip Danny’s fly, and get his hand on Danny’s cock. He knows he’s probably rushing things, knows this is probably going too fast, but Danny’s not saying no, Danny’s not telling him to stop, and he’s wanted this for so long that he can’t help himself.

Danny's hot and hard, and he curses and then groans against Steve’s mouth as Steve grips him, “Steve, fuck, yeah,” so he goes for it, working his hand on Danny’s cock, figuring out how to drag more of those sounds from Danny’s throat. Danny pulls back, breathing heavy, takes his mouth off Steve’s to say “You want...?” and fuck yeah, he wants, and _fucking_ button flies, who ever thought they were a good idea, and fuck if Danny’s coordinated enough right now to deal, so Steve helps him, fingers tangling with Danny’s until finally, _finally_ , Danny gets there.

If kissing Danny was good, this is even better, hot and urgent, the two of them working together, and just the thought of what they're actually doing is almost enough to get him off right there on its own. It doesn't take long before he's out there on the edge, but he’s damned if he’s going to come first, he wants to make Danny lose it, wants to watch Danny come apart, so he plays dirty and ups his stroke rate. That gets a curse from Danny, and retaliation, because this is _Danny_ after all, he'll never let Steve get away with _anything_ without calling it, but Steve's not losing this one, slides his free hand round to cup Danny's balls, and that's it, Danny's coming, lip bitten and eyes closed as he spills hot and wet over Steve's fingers. It may just be the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen, and he'd take time to savor it, he really would, but he's so close himself and he can't stop now, wraps his hand round Danny's and finishes himself off, bucking up into Danny's fist, and it's _perfect_.

Danny's curled forward over him, one hand still braced against the back of the couch, eyes closed, breathing hard. They stay like that for a long moment, then Danny rolls sideways and collapses on the couch next to him, "Fuck, Steve," and yeah, he thinks he knows, it was kind of quick and dirty, but that’s OK, they’ve got time, next time they can take it slower, get to work on doing all those things that Steve’s been trying not to think about. “You OK?” he asks, because Danny looks gloriously wrecked, hair all over the place, shirt un-tucked and pants undone, and yeah, it’s a good look on him, Steve thinks, and it makes him want to wrap his arms around Danny and just _hold_ him, but he's not sure Danny's quite ready for that. Danny tips his head back, eyes still closed “Yeah, yeah, I think so, fuck, Steve, that was..." and something hot and fierce twists in Steve’s gut.

He feels like he could stay here forever, wants to never move from this spot, this moment, but he can’t ignore the fact that his hand’s all sticky and his shirt’s covered in come, and now that he’s coming down from the high that’s really rather gross, and he needs to deal with it. Danny doesn't look like he's going anywhere in a hurry, so Steve risks it, "Just going to clean up, man, be right back," which gets a grunt from Danny that he takes as permission, and so reluctantly he tears himself away, pushes up off the couch and heads for the bathroom.

He’s quick, little more than a splash of water and a quick swipe of the washcloth, a slightly-less-dirty T grabbed from the laundry basket, and a swift glance in the mirror to look at the guy who unbelievably just got everything he’s been wanting, before he heads back to the living room.

Quick, but not quick enough, because when he gets back the couch is empty and Danny is nowhere to be seen, Danny's _gone_ , and fuck, maybe this wasn't what Danny really wanted after all?

* * * * *

 **Under pressure**

Danny is _not_ a coward. He's a fine, courageous, upstanding law enforcement officer who can hold his own in a firefight and has few qualms about facing off a room full of gun-toting people-traffickers or knife-wielding meth heads. (He's also got birthday-party-proven ability in handling a room full of seven-year-old girls, which privately he's more proud of... at least the criminals are _predictably_ crazy...)

So, Danny Williams is most emphatically not a coward. Which absolutely does not explain why he's still sitting in his car in the parking lot and sorting old case notes a full ten minutes after he's supposed to have been in a 5-0 briefing meeting. He's got two missed calls on his phone from Chin, and one from Kono, and yes, OK, he's more scared now than he's been since the day Rachel told him she was pregnant with Grace.

Of course, the problem isn't the briefing meeting. The problem is Steve McGarrett (and yeah, so when is it ever not?). Steve. His partner. The partner he’s been having all those hot, dirty, _wrong_ dreams about. The partner who, in a sudden rush of blood to the head (or possibly to somewhere less inclined to rational behavior, if Danny's honest), Danny had kissed last night.

Well, OK, strictly speaking Steve had kissed him first, and what’s with that? Because Steve is _straight_ , Danny knows that, hell, he’s seen the hot Navy lieutenant who Steve’s got on speed dial, and who in their right mind is going to throw _that_ over for a short blond Jersey cop with attitude, child support payments and a fuckload of emotional baggage along for the ride? Who is also a _guy_ , straight, and the person he spends every day at work with? Steve may be crazy, but he’s not stupid.

But Steve hadn’t just kissed him, he’d then proceeded to jerk him off (and yeah, Danny likes to think he gave as good as he got, at least until Commander Tall, Dark and Full Of Surprises pulled the two hands trick, but whatever, Danny hadn’t heard Steve complaining). And that was just about the hottest thing that's ever happened to him, even better than the dreams (and really, he's trying not to think about it, because when he does his upstairs brain and his downstairs brain have a falling out). He can’t let himself think about it, can’t let himself think about how what he’d really like to do is march in there, get Steve up against the nearest wall and kiss him senseless, mark him up, show everyone that he’s Danny’s, because the fact is that they crossed a line last night, and there are good reasons why regulations insist that line shouldn’t be crossed, why partners shouldn’t get… involved with one another. That is, of course, if Steve even _wants_ to get involved with Danny, if last night wasn’t just… and fuck, the truth is that Danny has no idea what last night was, no idea what was going through Steve’s head, and the whole thing is such a fucking mess.

Steve is already in the building (his truck's in the parking lot), which means he's being more of a man about it than Danny. But then Steve didn't bolt (no, make that 'engage in a tactical withdrawal') as soon as Danny went to the bathroom to clean up (and no, he’s not exactly proud of that, knows it complicates things even more, but it’s done and he can’t undo it).

Fuck.

Perhaps they'll both be so embarrassed that they can pretend it never happened. Perhaps they can go back to bitching one another out, and just make sure that they never, ever get drunk alone together. Perhaps they haven't ruined everything after all.

Yeah. Like he'd be that lucky.

* * * * *

 **Life during wartime**

A slow day at the office means the opportunity to catch up on some paperwork, and he hates that. Hates it even more when his partner won't talk to him, won't look at him, hell, doesn't even want to be in the same room as him, and that's pretty much all his fault. Danny's been sort of... absent – pale, quiet and strung like a tripwire - all day, Chin and Kono are starting to look worried, and Steve's the boss, which means that he's got to do something about the whole sorry mess before the team runs into serious trouble.

Which is why he's sitting on the couch in his living room (yeah, _that_ couch, scene of the best thing to happen to him since he came back to Hawaii, and thinking about _that_ is so not helping right now) and going over the information he's got available. The way Danny's been behaving around him, jumping at every touch. The way Danny was dreaming about him (and thinking about _that_ isn’t helping either). And then last night, there's no way he's wrong, Danny wanted it as much as he did (and even if he never gets to touch Danny again, he’ll be jerking off to the remembered feel of Danny’s hand on his cock for a long time to come). There's not much to go on, admittedly, but the intel he _has_ got is pretty solid, and hell, he's dropped on less, when the mission was critical. Danny wants him, he wants Danny, but Danny clearly has issues, and Steve was an idiot to go charging in without considering that first.

His mistake last night, he thinks, was in assuming he'd won the battle when in fact all he’d done was contest the opening skirmish. If he wants Danny - and he _does_ want Danny, more than he’s wanted anyone in a long, long time, quite possibly more than he’s ever wanted anyone, if he faces it squarely - then he's going to have to figure out Danny’s issues and come up with a plan of attack for dealing with them, whatever they are. And to do that he’s going to have to get his eyes on the target and scope out the situation.

In other words, he's going to have to man up and go talk to his partner.

The decision's made, there's no point in putting it off, he can prepare what he’s going to say on the drive over, so he changes his shirt, digs out a clean pair of cargoes and pulls on his boots. Steve McGarrett, combat-ready, and he can't deny he's as nervous as he's ever been before an operation. He wonders if he should arm himself with a bottle, maybe grab the six pack of Longboards he's got in the fridge, a peace offering, but he thinks better of it, thinks that most likely stone cold sober is the best way to go here.

There’s a knock on the door as he’s lacing his boots, but he ignores it, he has more important things to do right now. The knock is repeated though, more insistent this time, clearly not going to go unanswered, and he thinks fuck, no, _not now_ as he swings the door open and prepares to let rip.

Danny is standing there on his doorstep. Danny, with his hair rumpled like he’s been running his fingers through it, his fists clenched in his pockets, and a swiftly-hidden look of apprehension on his face that’s at odds with the carefully-composed cockiness of his stance. Danny, who has apparently decided to make a pre-emptive strike that has back-footed Steve, derailed his plan and left him with _nothing_ except a sick feeling in his gut.

Danny, who looks at him with unreadable eyes and says ”You gonna ask me in, McGarrett? Only it seems to me that you and me need to have a conversation.”

* * * * *

 **What if?**

Three times round the block is probably enough, Danny reckons, because soon someone is going to get start getting suspicious, and the last thing he needs is to get pulled over by an HPD blue-and-white and to have to explain why he’s driving round in circles trying to pluck up the courage to knock on his partner’s door. So he gives up on craven cowardice, pulls into Steve’s driveway, and gets his knuckles on the wood of Steve’s door before he can chicken out and run again.

Steve doesn’t exactly look delighted to see him, but Danny’s not backing off now, they’re doing this whether Steve likes it or not, so he squares his shoulders, cocks his head and says in as bright a tone as he can muster, ”You gonna ask me in, McGarrett? Only it seems to me that you and me need to have a conversation.” And honestly, it’s almost comical to see the look of pure panic that flits across Steve’s face at the words “need to have a conversation”, and really, if Danny wasn’t so fucking nervous himself he’d make something of it.

He’ll give this much to his partner, though, he’s no coward (and maybe he’s got one up on Danny there, if Danny cares to think about it). He stands back, lets Danny in, closes the door and... waits.

So, yeah, it’s up to Danny. Now there’s a surprise.

”About last night...”

”What about last night?” Steve’s expression is wary, and Danny realises he’s probably preparing himself for either a smart dressing down or extreme violence. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that things still might go that way, if Danny’s honest, but he really, sincerely hopes not.

He runs his fingers through his hair, takes a deep breath, figures out where to start. ”Look, I’m sorry I left like that, OK? You’re my partner, whatever happened I owe you better than that, it was a shitty thing to do and I’m sorry.”

Steve nods, face still blank, but he doesn’t say anything, so Danny plows on. “The thing is, I need to know what happened last night. I mean, I know what _happened_ , you kissed me and then we... uh...” and fuck it, he can feel himself going red, and that's so not how he wanted this to go, but they’re in Steve’s living room, and the memory of what they did on that couch last night is blindingly vivid right now. Danny's downstairs brain is screaming at him to just shut the fuck up, to stop being so fucking stupid, and to get his hands on Steve right now and go for a rerun of the hot, dirty sex they had last night, but Danny's upstairs brain is so not listening to that, no way, even if it does appear to be taking a slightly-more-than-aesthetic interest in the way Steve's T stretches across his pecs...

Steve’s voice drags him back to the here and now. ”You kissed me back.”

Trust Steve not to make this easy. ”Stop trying to change the subject. I need to know why you kissed me.”

”Because I wanted to?” Steve’s not meeting his eyes, is studying the wall somewhere behind Danny with the intensity he usually reserves for stripping guns or interrogating suspects. He’s got his chin up and his arms folded, and that’s a defensive posture if Danny’s ever seen one, and his tone isn’t giving anything away.

Danny thinks about that one for a moment. ”Because you wanted to.” And yeah, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so he continues. “And, um, is this something you’ve wanted to do... uh... before? Or just something you felt like doing last night in particular? Because, you know, a girl likes to know if she’s more than a one night stand.” And he’s trying for flippant, but God knows he’s not feeling it, God knows that Steve’s answer _matters_ to him more than he cares to face.

Steve hesitates for a long moment, flicks a quick look at Danny, and then looks sideways, swallows hard and mumbles something Danny can’t quite hear, and no fucking way is he having that, he’s come all the way over here to have this out, it’s too important, and damned if he’s going to let Steve off the hook that easily.

”What was that? You’ll have to speak up, I didn’t _catch that_.”

Finally Steve looks straight at him, with a look that could be read as defiant, pissed off or defensive, Danny’s not sure which. “I’ve wanted to for a long time, OK? But I didn’t think... hell, you were married once, Danny, I figured there’s no way...” And oh god, he can’t believe what he’s hearing, all this time they’ve been working together and he never _realised_? Some detective he is... but Steve hasn’t finished, seems hell-bent on getting it out now he’s started. “I never thought you’d want... hell, Danny, I’d never have done anything, you’ve got to know that... but then the other night, the stakeout... you were talking in your sleep...” And Steve grinds to a halt, biting his lip, and no way, fuck, he’s actually _blushing_ , and Danny is surprised to learn that the sight makes him want to wrap his arms around Steve, hold him very tight and tell him that it’s OK, that he feels the same way too and that maybe they should take this upstairs to that big, wide bed and get started on trying some of the things Danny's been dreaming about...

"So you kissed me."

"So I kissed you, and then we had sex, and I'd do it again, right now if you want, and you can't tell me you didn't want it too because I was _there_ , Danny..."

Do it right now, and yeah, Danny's dizzy with the thought that he could just go over there, put his mouth on Steve’s, run his hands over those long, lean muscles and just _take_ what he wants, and fuck the consequences. But of course it’s not that simple, how could it be, this is Danny’s life, after all, and there are complications, Danny has _responsibilities_.

He rubs his hand across his face, all the ramifications of this jostling for space in his head. ”Jesus, Steve, we can't just..."

"Why not?" The look on Steve's face has gone from defiant to something that says Steve's a long way from a place of safety but not retreating, and the intensity of that look takes Danny's breath away. Steve's serious about this, really, really serious, and fuck, yeah, Danny realises, so is he.

He rubs his face again, closes his eyes so he can't get derailed by that look. "Because... because it's complicated, OK?"

"It doesn't have to be," and Danny knows that tone, knows how goddamned stubborn Steve can be when he's got his mind set on something.

"Steve, we're _partners_ , we work together, there are rules and regulations...”

”We’re not HPD, Danny. Immunity and means, she said. That means we make our own rules.”

”And then there's the Navy...”

”DADT got repealed.”

"I know that, asshole, I read the news. I’m just saying...”

”Saying what, Danny? Because I want this, and if you want this too, we’ll figure it out somehow.”

And yeah, he knows Steve’s serious, knows he means it, and because he owes Steve this much he looks straight at him for the next part, opens his eyes and really _looks_.

”It’s not just those things, Steve, fuck it, who cares about HPD or the fucking Navy? No, it’s...” and he swallows hard, because he knows this is going to hurt. “It’s Grace. I’ve got to think of Grace. If I get involved with someone... well, it affects Grace, so I’ve got to be sure, really sure...”

He’s watching Steve’s face, and the quickly-concealed look of hurt and bitter disappointment he sees there twists his heart up, and he knows he’s in a bad way. He steps in, puts his hand on Steve’s arm and looks up at him, tries not to think about how much he wants to just give in and kiss him, drag him off to bed and wipe that hurt look off his face. “I’m not saying no, Steve. I'm saying... maybe. I’m saying... give me some time, OK? Give me some time to think about it.” There’s a long pause, and then Steve nods, once, jaw set. “I can do that. But I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready, OK?” And Danny takes one last look at him, all pale and serious and determined, swallows down the lump in his throat and says “OK, OK then, I’ll call you,” turns around, and walks away from the best thing to happen to him in _years_.

* * * * *

 **Take a chance on me**

Danny’s been gone a week, a last-minute vacation with Grace, or that’s what he’s told everybody, and Steve feels like he’s missing a limb. It’s not just that he misses Danny’s almost constant commentary on everything he says or does, it’s also the sheer physical presence of Danny that he misses. For a short guy Danny takes up a lot of room, and Steve’s life is just too spacious without him.

He’s not heard from Danny, but then Danny said he needed time to think, said he’d call, and Steve’s just got to wait it out. And if in the meantime he throws himself into his work, goes in a little too hot once or twice, well, he just hopes Chin and Kono don’t make anything of it other than the lack of Danny’s steadying influence. And, after all, that’s not really so far from the truth.

So when he walks into his kitchen after his Saturday morning swim (and he’d swum much further than he usually does, because while he’s swimming he doesn’t have to _think_ ) the last thing he’s expecting is to find Danny there, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in one hand and a malasada in the other, looking for all the world like he owns the place. Danny, who looks fit and tanned and more relaxed than he’s seen him for weeks. Danny, who’s wearing a blue shirt that matches his eyes, and no tie, and Steve gets briefly distracted by the thought of how much he’d like to press his mouth to the hollow just visible at the base of Danny’s throat... but of course he can’t, he’s not allowed, he promised, the next move is Danny’s. He just hopes to God it’s the right move.

“You know, you really should lock your door and set the alarm when you go out,” Danny says conversationally, “I’ve told you about that, you _know_ I’ve told you about that.” And it’s so good to hear Danny’s voice again that Steve just stops and closes his eyes for a moment, lets it wash over him, tries not to think about what comes next.

”So,” says Danny, still with the easy tone, like what he’s about to say isn’t the most important thing in the world, “I’ve been thinking, this week, while I’ve been out with Grace,” and something in the way he sets his coffee mug down and shifts slightly against the counter tells Steve that Danny’s not as relaxed as he’s pretending to be. “I’ve been thinking about when Grace was born, and how scared I was.” And Steve can’t see where this is going, and right now he feels as though he’d like to throw up, or run away, or do anything except stand here in his kitchen waiting for Danny to tell him how things are going to be.

”I was so scared of all the things that could happen to her, so frightened about all the ways we could lose her. But she’s the best thing in my life, and even if those things happened now I could never, ever regret taking the risk of having her.” Danny’s looking straight at him now, serious and solemn. “So the way I see it is this, some things in life are worth taking a chance on. And I figure you might be one of those things.” He pauses, then grins, and Steve appreciates what a good attempt it is under the circumstances. “So, babe, if you’re still interested in this prime piece of Jersey real estate,” and Danny gestures at himself with one hand, scattering malasada crumbs everywhere, “Well then, it’s all yours.”

Steve has no idea what to say, seems to have lost his voice along with the breath in his lungs and every coherent thought in his head, but he can’t help the ridiculous smile that he can feel spreading across his face. And he sees the tension go out of Danny’s shoulders, sees a genuine grin replace the brave attempt on his partner’s face, hears Danny laughing at him, ”Hello? Earth calling Steve, do you read me? Because for your information, princess, that would be your cue to get your ass over here and kiss me, before I get fed up of waiting and go find some other hot Navy guy to have wild monkey sex with.”

And really, Steve doesn’t need telling twice.

* * * * *

 **All I ever wanted**

Danny’s spent all week thinking of good reasons why they shouldn’t do this, he really has. He’s thought about working relationships and how getting personal can fuck them up, he’s thought about how upset Grace would be if she got used to Steve being in their lives and then it all went wrong, and he’s thought about how batshit insane Steve can be sometimes and how much it drives him crazy. But he keeps coming back to what he saw in Steve’s eyes the evening they had their conversation, and to the increasing conviction that Steve McGarrett might just be the best thing that’s happened to him since Grace was born, and to how he’d be crazy to throw that away without at least giving it a shot, and before he knows it he’s talked himself into it.

He just hopes to hell that _Steve_ hasn’t had second thoughts.

So it’s both a huge relief _and_ extremely gratifying to see just how fast Steve gets across the kitchen and gets his hands on him once he gives him the nod, and yeah, his dating skills may be a bit rusty but the old Williams magic is obviously still there. Steve seems to think so, anyway, because the kiss that starts out careful and measured quickly escalates into Steve boosting him up onto the counter and really going to town, and Danny’s absolutely sure that he shouldn’t find Steve going all Neanderthal on him quite as hot as he actually does. But he’s too old for sex on the kitchen counter, or maybe he isn’t, but there’s that big bed upstairs and he’s got five hours until he has to pick up Grace, and this is all going to go far better in a bit of comfort. With a huge effort of willpower he shoves at Steve, manages to get a couple of inches of air between them, and says “Bed, I distinctly remember you have a perfectly good bed in this place, Steven, why don’t we go use it, like civilized people?” For a moment Steve stares at him, breathless and dazed, but then he gets with it, gives a crazy, crazy grin and pulls Danny off the counter, and for a second Danny thinks Steve’s actually going to try and _carry him_ , but then he lets Danny down and pushes him towards the staircase.

They fumble their way up the stairs, kissing in the bedroom doorway, messy and desperate, Steve stripping off his shorts as they kiss, and it’s not fair, because Danny’s wearing far more than Steve, which means that Steve gets to stretch out all naked and gorgeous and distracting on the bed while Danny fumbles with his belt buckle and shirt buttons, all fingers and thumbs in desperation. But he gets there, makes for the bed, has to stop and just _look_ at Steve, because he can’t really believe that he can have this, that this is all for him. But then Steve pulls a move, tumbles him onto the bed and straddles him, warm and solid, plants his hands either side of Danny’s head, breathes “Danny, _Danny_ and kisses him, and yeah, maybe this is getting more believable by the minute.

The kissing is good, no, the _naked_ kissing is fucking awesome, he finally gets to run his hands over that sleek, smooth skin, dig his fingers into those lean, hard muscles, drag his nails across that broad, strong back, and fuck, he never knew how much he wanted this, he feels like he could stay like this forever. But Steve doesn’t seem to think it’s enough, Steve breaks the kiss and heads downwards, mouthing his way along Danny’s jaw, down his neck and out along his collarbone, biting his way down across Danny’s pecs, laying on a string of quick sharp bites that sting so beautifully. Danny can’t help himself, he hisses Steve’s name and twists, wanting more, but Steve’s moved on, the barest scrape of teeth and a hot lick of his tongue across Danny’s nipples, and then he’s working his way down Danny’s abs towards Danny’s cock. And Jesus, he should have a license for that mouth, because it’s truly hazardous to Danny’s health the way he swallows him down, takes him deep and hot and wet until he has Danny arching off the bed, fists clutching at the sheets, babbling inarticulate nonsense, fuck, Steve, your mouth, Jesus God I swear, fucking amazing. Somewhere in the back of his brain he’s trying to think that maybe he should pull back, do something for _Steve_ , but then the sonofabitch pulls the same trick he did on the couch that night, gets his hand on Danny’s balls and squeezes gently and that’s it, Danny’s done, all thought of control gone, coming hard down Steve’s throat.

And fuck him, if the bastard doesn’t look smug about it, sitting back on his heels and grinning down at him like the cat that got the fucking cream, and Danny’s going to do something about that, he really is, just as soon as he regains higher brain function and the full use of his limbs. In the meantime he does what he can, shifts down to get his hand on Steve’s cock, hears Steve curse as he pulls him down and jacks him hard. Steve jerks his hips forwards, thrusting into Danny’s fist, then throws his head back, shudders, and comes with Danny’s name on his lips, and fuck if that isn’t an image that Danny’s _never_ going to forget as long as he lives.

Steve collapses down onto the bed next to him, breathing hard, and Danny wonders if it’s going to get awkward now, but it doesn’t, it just feels kind of... nice, and Danny’s forgotten how good it feels just to lie like this, to drift through the afterglow with someone close. He feels a laugh bubbling up inside of him, lets it out, soft and easy. ”So,” he says, “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go looking for that other hot Navy guy, then.”

Steve rolls, props himself up on one elbow and looks down at him, face serious. “No others, Danny.”

He ignores the warm feeling he gets in his chest at that, and calls it, because this is Steve, it’s expected, after all, “Possessive, much, Steven?” Which gets a laugh, and a “You’d better believe it,” but there’s a serious undertone there, and hell, Danny knew that already, it’s part of the attraction, neither of them is in this just for kicks.

The warm feeling in his chest kind of spreads, wells up, and he can’t help but give what he knows must be a foolishly fond smile. “Ah well, I always was a one-woman kind of guy. You’d just better make sure you keep me satisfied, babe, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

That earns him a raised eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Danno?”

”You take it any way you want, babe, I’m just saying…”

And, of course, Steve’s never been one to back down from a challenge. But then, Danny’s rather counting on that.  


* * * FIN * * *


End file.
